Tongues of Silver, Times of Gold - Milo & Menace (Narrative)
Sept 9, 2019 15:41:04 GMT
via mobile
Milo Brightmane, Igrainne (RETIRED), and 1 more like this
Post by Ian (Menace) on Sept 9, 2019 15:41:04 GMT
With many thanks to Milo Brightmane 
Everything feels off; The air is too clean, no cries of sea gulls to be heard, and the cobblestones under his boots just feel wrong. The streets of Daring Heights have an unfamiliar cleanliness to him, reminding him of New Town, but without the grandeur of the merchant houses and estates. This is what Old Town might have become, in another world, another time, if it had not been for the influx of refugees fleeing the Green Tide - and Menace thanks all the heavens above, and all the planes below that it was not so. Port Ffirst is his home and he loves it like a youth loves their mother - intensely, if sometimes subconsciously, noticing it keenly only when separated.
But then, he says to himself, this is a business trip, nothing more, and he would be damned if he didn't take in the sights and meet the people. And so he walks down the streets of Daring, through the Dwarven Quarter, until he finds the workshop he had been directed to. An unassuming house, with a chimney busily spewing out the black smoke of industry; a well-oiled signboard noiselessly swings in the breeze, with the symbol of the anvil embossed: the Hammerfall Smithy.
From inside he can hear the rhythmic, ringing clang of metal on tortured metal. When he notices a break between the strikes he gives the door a hearty knock, then opens and steps into the forge. The earthy, woody aroma of burning charcoal is the most immediate sensation, and immediately fills his nostrils, but behind it is a scent that is almost sweet. Around him stand several racks of tools, some imperceptibly different but each clearly in its particular place. At the rear of the room stands a dwarf with a wild mane of red hair that continues into a beard hanging low over his barrel chest. He puts to one side a long but incredibly narrow blade, only thumb-wide, and having done so turns to face the visitor.
"Good afternoon! Welcome to the Hammerfall Smithy. I'm Milo Brightmane, proprietor. What brings you here?"
The short red-skinned tiefling with his sparkling black eyes performs a flourishing bow, his great-cloak pushed to the side and revealing dozens of small pockets sewn inside; he scans the room quickly as he does, and then says in broken dwarish: “Greetings friendly dwarf! I trade man am. Port Ffirst come here. I hear much of great dwarf work and I come to trade.” seeing the puzzled look on Milo’s face, Menace breaks into a laugh, before continuing in common: “my apologies, my dwarvish is not so good yet as I thought to make it sound. I have come from Port Ffirst on business, but thought it would be a good opportunity to drop by and see this Master Milo I have heard so much about. While I have been called by many a slanderous name, it is just Mace to my friends, and I can already tell - you and I will be the very best of friends.” he says with an easy smile.
The dwarf crosses his arms, but smiles at the flamboyant tiefling. "Can you indeed? There's an old dwarf saying - 'Caurak calass burakrin saman ceud bliadhna'. The cavern between a stranger and a friend is a hundred years wide. You can add that to your terrible Dethek," he adds with a grin. Sitting down on a stumpy stool he continues "Can I actually help you, 'friend' Mace, or are you simply sightseeing? I am running a business here."
Menace takes the jabs in stride and smiles on.
“'Llurolor na aelin’*, indeed! I see we understand each other. I was, in fact, hoping to discuss some business with you. As a businessman, I travel far and wide, from Kul’Goran to Kundar, and hope to visit fabled Vorsthold itself someday soon. I look for special goods that are hard to find and want to offer the best crafts from elsewhere in turn. I have been told that you are positively the very best of smiths in Daring, and would like to commission a few pieces from you, weapons, tools, a selection of what the craftsmen of Daring and Port Ffirst have to offer. I intend to market these during my travels. If I find a steady buyer, I would put in a regular purchase order with you, if that is of interest, Master Milo? Establish a predictable cash-flow, as it were?” he says, with a wink. “And maybe during this project, may I practise my dwarvish with you? It is, I am afraid, so very hard to find a suitable friend to spar with.” Mace says, open palms outstretched in the manner of a supplicant.
Milo drums his fingers on his knee briefly.
"I don't know about 'the best', though I have been doing some good work out here. It's an interesting offer, I'll admit. I do alright for myself but…" he pauses as he look towards the forge, the charcoal crackling gently. "I do have plans." He turns his gaze back to the tiefling. "I'll tell you what Mace. I'm going to be out and about this week talking to some other dwarves around town, seeing if I can find any giant experts. If you tag along I'll get more of a measure of you, and you of me, and we'll see where we stand. And in the meantime you might be able to polish your Dwarvish. How does that sound?"
Menace flashes his best toothy grin, and throws his arms wide open.
“Why, that would be excellent! I shall follow you every step along the way and lap up your words of wisdom like an eager puppy. Oh, and lunch will be on me!” he says with a wink, “I sure hope you will come to get to know and trust me in this time, for I can tell, this will be the beginning of a very profitable friendship...” he says, offering his hand to shake on it.
Standing up, the dwarf approaches Menace. He gives the tiefling one more wry look, before extending his own hand. Despite needing to look down on Milo, the smith's hand engulfs his own, and retains a coating of black dust which Milo has made no effort to remove. "We'll see."
*'Time is money', literally 'the river of the world is gold-work'
Everything feels off; The air is too clean, no cries of sea gulls to be heard, and the cobblestones under his boots just feel wrong. The streets of Daring Heights have an unfamiliar cleanliness to him, reminding him of New Town, but without the grandeur of the merchant houses and estates. This is what Old Town might have become, in another world, another time, if it had not been for the influx of refugees fleeing the Green Tide - and Menace thanks all the heavens above, and all the planes below that it was not so. Port Ffirst is his home and he loves it like a youth loves their mother - intensely, if sometimes subconsciously, noticing it keenly only when separated.
But then, he says to himself, this is a business trip, nothing more, and he would be damned if he didn't take in the sights and meet the people. And so he walks down the streets of Daring, through the Dwarven Quarter, until he finds the workshop he had been directed to. An unassuming house, with a chimney busily spewing out the black smoke of industry; a well-oiled signboard noiselessly swings in the breeze, with the symbol of the anvil embossed: the Hammerfall Smithy.
From inside he can hear the rhythmic, ringing clang of metal on tortured metal. When he notices a break between the strikes he gives the door a hearty knock, then opens and steps into the forge. The earthy, woody aroma of burning charcoal is the most immediate sensation, and immediately fills his nostrils, but behind it is a scent that is almost sweet. Around him stand several racks of tools, some imperceptibly different but each clearly in its particular place. At the rear of the room stands a dwarf with a wild mane of red hair that continues into a beard hanging low over his barrel chest. He puts to one side a long but incredibly narrow blade, only thumb-wide, and having done so turns to face the visitor.
"Good afternoon! Welcome to the Hammerfall Smithy. I'm Milo Brightmane, proprietor. What brings you here?"
The short red-skinned tiefling with his sparkling black eyes performs a flourishing bow, his great-cloak pushed to the side and revealing dozens of small pockets sewn inside; he scans the room quickly as he does, and then says in broken dwarish: “Greetings friendly dwarf! I trade man am. Port Ffirst come here. I hear much of great dwarf work and I come to trade.” seeing the puzzled look on Milo’s face, Menace breaks into a laugh, before continuing in common: “my apologies, my dwarvish is not so good yet as I thought to make it sound. I have come from Port Ffirst on business, but thought it would be a good opportunity to drop by and see this Master Milo I have heard so much about. While I have been called by many a slanderous name, it is just Mace to my friends, and I can already tell - you and I will be the very best of friends.” he says with an easy smile.
The dwarf crosses his arms, but smiles at the flamboyant tiefling. "Can you indeed? There's an old dwarf saying - 'Caurak calass burakrin saman ceud bliadhna'. The cavern between a stranger and a friend is a hundred years wide. You can add that to your terrible Dethek," he adds with a grin. Sitting down on a stumpy stool he continues "Can I actually help you, 'friend' Mace, or are you simply sightseeing? I am running a business here."
Menace takes the jabs in stride and smiles on.
“'Llurolor na aelin’*, indeed! I see we understand each other. I was, in fact, hoping to discuss some business with you. As a businessman, I travel far and wide, from Kul’Goran to Kundar, and hope to visit fabled Vorsthold itself someday soon. I look for special goods that are hard to find and want to offer the best crafts from elsewhere in turn. I have been told that you are positively the very best of smiths in Daring, and would like to commission a few pieces from you, weapons, tools, a selection of what the craftsmen of Daring and Port Ffirst have to offer. I intend to market these during my travels. If I find a steady buyer, I would put in a regular purchase order with you, if that is of interest, Master Milo? Establish a predictable cash-flow, as it were?” he says, with a wink. “And maybe during this project, may I practise my dwarvish with you? It is, I am afraid, so very hard to find a suitable friend to spar with.” Mace says, open palms outstretched in the manner of a supplicant.
Milo drums his fingers on his knee briefly.
"I don't know about 'the best', though I have been doing some good work out here. It's an interesting offer, I'll admit. I do alright for myself but…" he pauses as he look towards the forge, the charcoal crackling gently. "I do have plans." He turns his gaze back to the tiefling. "I'll tell you what Mace. I'm going to be out and about this week talking to some other dwarves around town, seeing if I can find any giant experts. If you tag along I'll get more of a measure of you, and you of me, and we'll see where we stand. And in the meantime you might be able to polish your Dwarvish. How does that sound?"
Menace flashes his best toothy grin, and throws his arms wide open.
“Why, that would be excellent! I shall follow you every step along the way and lap up your words of wisdom like an eager puppy. Oh, and lunch will be on me!” he says with a wink, “I sure hope you will come to get to know and trust me in this time, for I can tell, this will be the beginning of a very profitable friendship...” he says, offering his hand to shake on it.
Standing up, the dwarf approaches Menace. He gives the tiefling one more wry look, before extending his own hand. Despite needing to look down on Milo, the smith's hand engulfs his own, and retains a coating of black dust which Milo has made no effort to remove. "We'll see."
*'Time is money', literally 'the river of the world is gold-work'